
Upon thou we shall be the shapeless blanket of the rebound. We'll have no more answers for your scattered glow, but underneath your oblivion we will be a kindred of warmth. And before thy greater incompleteness we'll be again no more, and we will be you. Again.



If the square can fit in our memory we cannot say for sure, but we are pleased to know that before every single story maybe we can forget the locally squaring numbers

